


Confrontation

by Reidluver



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, John is a soldier Sherlock, Reunion Fic, Sherlock doesn't know how to hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reidluver/pseuds/Reidluver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While it was one of many possible outcomes of John's reaction to seeing Sherlock back from the dead, Sherlock was still nonetheless surprised by his companion. A puzzling effect, but Sherlock was finding he really didn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before seeing the Reichenbach episode, so there are a few things that differ from the canon, but it doesn't detract from the story. I'm working on a more in depth fic of how I think the reunion will happen, but for now I hope you enjoy this story. Warning for a bit of language.

“You were dead.”  
  
There was the faint impulse to roll his eyes, but Sherlock knew that under the circumstances it would be a Very Bad Thing. Plus there was the fact that he knew John was struggling to process the knowledge that he was in fact alive, so Sherlock felt no reason to antagonize him.  
  
“You were dead,” John said again.  
  
Sherlock realized it was probably best that he say something. “For a while I thought I was, John, but thanks to the doctors my brother—“ _(at this John scoffed and Sherlock swore he heard him mutter “Of course” under his breath)_ “—had sworn to secrecy, they were able to save my life.”  
  
“So what in the ruddy hell were you _doing_ all this time? It’s been over a _year_ and Moriarty didn’t survive that fall! _There was no reason to pretend you were dead!”_ John very nearly exploded and Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from taking a small step back in response. He never thought that another person’s emotions could transform into something so tangible.  
  
Sherlock swallowed. “While I was pleased to learn of Moriarty’s demise, I knew there would still be lingering factions of his organization, and the best way to fully get rid of them would be to keep up the pretense that I had passed on. It gave me free reign to locate them in the shadows and then send my brother after them.”  
  
He paused for a moment, trying to gauge John’s reaction. Nothing changed, so he took a step forward and spoke in a softer tone. “I’m . . . I’m terribly sorry you had to be kept in the dark about this, but—”  
  
In hindsight, he really should have expected this. John was a bloody _soldier_ after all, and despite his rather calm outward disposition, Sherlock had spent enough time with him to understand that, should circumstances allow it, he was every bit the stereotypical cold-hearted killing machine Her Majesty’s soldiers needed to be. It was actually one of the things that both puzzled and fascinated Sherlock about the man.  
  
However, Sherlock had falsely assumed John’s grief would be too powerful for a physical confrontation, which was why he was currently sprawled backwards on the floor of their flat with a very sore left side of his face.  
  
Before he even had a chance to completely assess his injuries, John was crouched down in front of him. John roughly yanked on Sherlock’s coat collar and yelled, _“You fucking bastard! ”_ He then proceeded to shake Sherlock as he continued his verbal assault.  
  
“Do you have _any_ idea what you did?! I know you seem to think it’s best to go it alone, but I thought that after all we’ve been through together you could have at _least_ trusted _me_ enough to keep a secret like this! You _know_ I would rather die than betray you like that!”Sherlock opened his mouth to try and say something before John completely lost his temper _(even though he had a feeling he deserved to be punched again)_ but he never got the chance to. Instead of causing more bodily harm or uttering more profanities, John moved forward and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s upper body, his face buried into Sherlock’s shoulder.  
  
The previously-thought-deceased-detective could only blink as his mind belatedly registered the gesture as a hug. His entire body froze at the odd sensation and for all the times his mind had never failed him, Sherlock was at a complete and utter loss of words.  
  
It was only when John started shaking and Sherlock heard his muffled cries did he manage to let out a garbled, _“Wha’?” (He would be deleting that later)_ John’s only response was to cry harder and Sherlock tensed, feeling a powerful urge to succumb to the flight response. He was prepared to deal with an angry and disappointed John, _not_ a crying John.  
  
Despite how many emotions John expressed over the course of their acquaintance, crying had never been one Sherlock was really exposed to. There were the occasional nightmares when they first knew each other, but once the two of them fell into a somewhat regular routine of solving crimes the nightmares of Afghanistan disappeared. Yet even then, Sherlock could only stand outside the door in a bizarre sort of silent vigil or play his violin because comfort was not his thing.  
  
And then there was the fact that he was actually being _hugged_ by John. Sherlock was never “hugged” by anyone. If someone foolish enough attempted to do so _(as older women tended to do whenever he solved their crimes)_ he was able to quickly shove them away. Prolonged physical contact with any living creature was too uncomfortable for him.  
  
He tried to slowly extract himself from John’s grip, but it only caused the man to increase the pressure of his hold, leaving Sherlock helpless. He spent a moment searching his mind palace for a way out of this then realized all he could do was return the gesture.  
  
Feeling incredibly foolish, Sherlock sat up more fully and carefully wrapped his own arms around John. To his surprise, it actually felt . . . well, he didn’t exactly know what he felt but—it wasn’t as foreign a gesture as he thought it would have been. It felt almost . . . natural.  
  
To add to his bewilderment, at his touch John seemed to relax. He leaned more heavily against Sherlock and his cries seemed a bit lighter in tone even though they increased in their intensity. It was at this moment that Sherlock realized now would be the perfect time to pull himself from John’s grip but it suddenly didn’t seem that important anymore.  
  
 _“ . . . I’m so sorry, John.”_ Sherlock was shocked at the amount of emotion he could hear in his own voice, but he couldn’t deny the fact that the words were true. He idly registered his eyes were burning and quickly glanced upward while blinking furiously to get rid of the uncomfortable sensation. _“I’m so sorry.”_  
  
A few seconds of silence passed. “It hurt, Sherlock,” John finally said, his voice slightly muffled from Sherlock’s shirt . “I thought you were _dead.”_  
  
“I know—I’m sorry.” Fascinating, three apologizes in less than thirty seconds? The effect John had on his behavior would continue to baffle him.  
  
“I had to go your funeral Sherlock, to live each day wondering what I could have done different—I should have ran faster, should have gotten there earlier, should have locked you away in a bloody detention cell until Moriarty was dead—”  
  
A spike of panic coursed through Sherlock as John’s voice grew dangerously close to hysteria. Flustered, he unconsciously tightened his grip around John, pushing his face deeper against the older man’s hair.  
  
It apparently did the job. John took a deep, shuddering breath and when he next spoke his words were more calm and controlled. “After a while I was able to go back to work at the surgery, and there was still Mrs. Hudson and Greg and Molly to talk to but . . . it just wasn’t the same.”It was now that John slowly pulled away from Sherlock and they looked at each other properly. John’s eyes were wet and slightly red with fresh tear tracks down his cheeks but—most of the anger was gone from his expression. What pleased Sherlock was that there was even a faint smile there. _This_ was his John, not the anguished man he saw earlier.  
  
“Just don’t ever do that again,” John said, voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Sherlock shook his head. “I won’t,” he said, surprised to find it difficult to speak. “I promise.”  
  
John’s face broke into a wide smile at that, and Sherlock found most of the tension he had felt since deciding to reveal himself ease. However, Sherlock wasn’t naïve enough to think the matter was over just yet. Just because John had forgiven him didn’t mean there weren’t lingering feelings of pain and anger. Sherlock had seen the video of his “funeral” and seeing John the way he was . . . it was unbearable.  
  
“John, I . . .”  
  
Sherlock’s voice died in his throat. It was infuriating how his mind was betraying him at this time of need! John merely nodded and gave him a look that told Sherlock he understood what he was trying to say, but for once Sherlock knew that wasn’t good enough. He had to really prove how sincere his regret was.  
  
So it was with this reasoning _(and only this reasoning)_ that Sherlock leaned forward and hugged John tightly. There was a slight “oomph” as all the air was expelled from John’s lungs, but Sherlock couldn’t quite bring himself to care. John hesitated for only a second, then returned the second hug with equal vigor. He muttered a quiet “thank you” into Sherlock’s coat.  
  
And if John heard the single choked sob in response, he didn’t comment.


End file.
